The Knight
by Garrett C McArthur
Summary: This is a science fiction AU of the Dunk and Egg story known as The Hedge Knight.
1. Explanation

_So, it has been a long time since I posted anything. I am really sorry, but I have been very busy lately, and I will continue to be very busy for the next few weeks. I have family from out of state staying with me, so it is difficult to find time to write as much as I would like. Therefore,_ The Dragon _is going on hold. However, as you can see, that does not mean I am done writing for the next few weeks. I had an idea that would require almost NO creativity on my part, but it should still be entertaining to you. This story is going to need a bit of an explanation, so that's what this chapter is about._

Welcome to my new story: _The Knight._ I spent multiple hours rewriting a timeline of _ASOIAF_ into an AU based around space exploration. Basically, Wheon (Westeros) is a planet that the Germens (First Men) discovered thousands of years ago. Then the Americans (Andals) came. I will post a link to the timeline I created on my page eventually, but I think you get how this is going. The Japanese (Valyrians) created a new form of nuclear weapons and used it to take over Earth (Essos). That caused the Russians (Rhoynar) to hop on some space ships and travel to Wheon as well. Eventually the Japanese destroyed themselves using their nukes, and the rest you can probably guess.

Now for some geography lessons: for the most part, the shape and locations of Wheon are the same as Westeros. Some changes are the Iron Islands, the Three Sisters, Dragonstone, the other islands, and the Wall. The Iron Islands are the moons of Wheon. The Three Sisters are a group of three large asteroids that circle Wheon. Dragonstone is Earth's Moon. I spent a lot of time debating over that specific part, but I figured it would work in the end. Other islands, such as Long Night, Isle of Tarth, the Shields, and all the rest are other, smaller asteroids that are farther from Wheon. The Wall is something totally different. It is a space port near Wheon called the Guardian.

So thousands of years ago, when it was just the Germans, Cluozz (children of the forest), and the Gluep (giants), an alien race invaded Wheon known as the Olen (Others). They came from the planet Fedreo (Beyond-the-Wall). Eventually they were cast back, and the Guardian was built to protect Wheon from the Olen, should they invade again. Later on, when the Americans came, some of the Germans (wildlings) and all of the Cluozz and Gluep evacuated to Fedreo and live there, hidden away from the Olen.

The government and class system remains close to the same as Westeros. When the Germans came over, they used the title of king, like they did in the past. When the Americans came, they adopted that use. The Russians called themselves Princes. None of this is hard to believe. However, I had a hard time with the military class system. I figured most knights would be captains, some would be commanders, and the leader would be the general. The foot soldiers and archers would be just regular soldiers. But that left no room for hedge knights. They wouldn't be captains, and they wouldn't be common soldiers. So then I decided they would be called knights. It's weird, but not entirely unrealistic.

 _Anyways, that is all I have to explain. If you have any more questions, just comment and I'll answer. The official first chapter should be up soon. Enjoy!_


	2. The Old Man

The spring rains had softened the ground, so Dunk had no trouble digging the grave. He chose a spot on the western slope of a low hill, for the old man had always loved to watch the sunset. "Another day gone," he would sigh, "and who knows what the next day will bring us, right, Dunk?"

Well, one day had brought rains that soaked them to the bones, and the one after had brought wet gusty winds, and the next a chill. By the fourth day the old man was too weak to drive. And now he was gone. Only a few days ago, he had been singing as they drove, the old song about going to Gulltown to see a pretty girl, but instead of Gulltown he'd sung of Ashford. Off to Ashford to see a pretty girl, heigh-ho, heigh-ho, Dunk thought miserably as he dug.

When the hole was deep enough, he lifted the old man's body in his arms and carried him there. He had been a small man, and slim; stripped of uniform, helmet, and holder, he seemed to weigh no more than a bag of leaves. Dunk was hugely tall for his age, a shambling, shaggy, big-boned sixteen year old boy who was almost seven feet tall, and had only just begun to grow. The old man had often praised his strength. He had always been generous in his praise. It was all he had to give.

He laid him out in the bottom of the grave and stood over him for a little bit. The smell of rain was in the air again, and he knew he ought to fill the hold before the rain broke, but it was hard to throw dirt down on that tired old face. There should be a pastor here, to say some prayers over him, but he only has me. The old man had taught Dunk all he knew of guns and driving, but he had never been much good at teaching him words.

"I'd leave your gun, but it would go to waste in the ground," he said at last, apologetic. "The gods will give you a new one, I guess. I wish you didn't die, sir." He paused, uncertain what else needed to be said. He didn't know any prayers, not all the way through; the old man had never been much for praying. "You were a good knight, and you never beat me when I didn't deserve it," he finally managed, "except that one time in Maidenpool. It was the other boy who at the pie, not me, I told you. It doesn't matter now. The gods take care of you, sir." He kicked dirt in the hole, then began to fill it methodically, never looking at the thing in the bottom. He had a long life, Dunk thought. He was 58, and how many men can say that? At least he had lived to see another spring.

It was past noon as he cleaned the vehicles. There were three; their car, his motorcycle, and the old man's motorcycle, who was ridden only in races. It was more valuable than anything else Dunk owned. If I sold his motorcycle and the car, I'd come away with enough money to… Dunk frowned. The only life he knew was the life of a knight, riding to cities and forts, taking service with a lord or commander, fighting in their battles and eating in their dining halls until the war was done, then moving on. There were races from time to time as well, though less often, and he knew that some knights turned into criminals during winters, though the old man never had.

I could find another knight in need of a squire to clean his car and wash his clothes, he though, or I might go to some city, to Lannisport or King's Landing, and join the police. Or else…

He had piled the old man's things under a tree. The wallet contained 49 dollars and a shipped garnet; as with most knights, the greatest part of his money had been spent on his vehicles and guns. Dunk now owned a knight uniform that he had washed a thousand times, a helmet with a dent on the left temple, a holder of brown leather, a machine gun strapped in leather, a pistol, a combat knife, some bullets, and a pin with the symbol of Sir Arlan of Pennytree: a silver winged cup.

Dunk looked at the pin, picked up the holder, and looked at the pin again. The holder's strap was made for the old man's skinny hips. It would never do for him, no more than the uniform would. He tied the holder to some rope, knotted it around his waist, and picked up the machine gun.

The gun was a heavy, nicely manufactured, with the grip wrapped in leather. Plain as it was, the gun felt good in his hands, and Dunk knew how precise it was, having fired it at a tree many times before they went to sleep.

He couldn't wait for the race at Ashford Meadow.


End file.
